


Good Vibrations

by naboru



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Dubious Consent, Energy Field Play, M/M, PWP, Plug and Play, Tactile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-08
Updated: 2011-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:59:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboru/pseuds/naboru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walking at night through the Nemesis, Breakdown runs into Blast Off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Vibrations

**Title:** Good vibrations  
 **Continuity:** G1  
 **Warnings:** smut (plug’n’play, tactile, energy field play), PWP, dub-con  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Blast Off/Breakdown ( & hints to other pairings)  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Summary:** Walking at night through the Nemesis, Breakdown runs into Blast Off.  
 **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
 **Beta:** ultharkitty, thank you so much! :D

 **Note:** Written for [Kantadora on deviantART](http://kantadora.deviantart.com/), and inspired by the Blast Off/Breakdown picture of her.  
Also massive thanks to ultharkitty for beta reading and helping me with the misery of how to get them to the floor. ;p

 

**Good Vibrations**

Breakdown was restless.

He walked the hallways of the Nemesis, the lights dimmed due to the night hours. His shadow was long on the floor, and his steps loud, even if he tried to sneak.

He wasn’t only restless, he was also drunk - for his standards anyway. Breakdown wasn’t drunk enough to pass out, nor to not be able to walk, but enough to feel dizzy.

Earlier that evening, Wildrider had convinced him to drink high grade - two cubes, and this was more than he was used to. Breakdown didn’t like the feeling high grade caused. It increased the number of eyes watching him, it made the shadows following him more real.

He was on his way to his quarters, only he wasn’t really. He didn’t want to go to his quarters alone.

Breakdown would have stayed the night in medbay, but the Constructicons threw him out. He’d wanted to see Motormaster and Dead End. The former had been still in recharge, but Dead End had sighed when Breakdown told him about the high grade. Then the Porsche had calmed him.

Dead End’s mere presence was relaxing, and his optics were less troublesome. They made the others vanish; not completely, but enough for him to think clearly for a while.

And Dead End didn’t make fun of his paranoia; unlike Wildrider and Drag Strip.

This was the reason why Breakdown didn’t want to recharge in their quarters, either.

Heaving air through his intakes, Breakdown’s slow pace came to a halt. He could sneak back into medbay and recharge there. But then the Constructicons would find out, and Motormaster wouldn’t be happy. He also wouldn’t like that Wildrider gave him high grade, and would punish them both.

Breakdown scratched a seam on his upper arm and looked back.

There was nobody there.

With a sigh, he continued walking, trying to find a way to tackle his misery.

He could also just go to his quarters and stay up all night until the effects of the high grade subsided. Though, he was on duty at midday, and if he didn’t recharge enough, it would also land him in trouble.

He entered another corridor, looking at the ground and his own moving shadow, and tried not to pay attention to the eyes watching him. He focused so hard on ignoring them, that he missed the real pair.

“Where is Dead End?” a bored voice asked. Breakdown jumped, the cry of surprise stuck in his vocaliser.

He turned optics wide, and stared at the Combaticon shuttle.

It wasn’t the first time Blast Off had asked him about that, and Breakdown knew the reason he did. It didn’t really matter, though, as long as Dead End wasn’t harmed.

“He’s in medbay” Breakdown answered with a weak voice, and backed up against the wall. He knew there were optics behind the visor looking at him, and the bulky, strong stature of the shuttle didn’t do anything to make him feel less anxious.

Heavy intakes vented a huff, and Breakdown wished he could just vanish and become one with the wall.

Wildrider had told him about humans called ninjas who could do that. He hadn’t understood how this would work, but he thought that this was quite a useful ability.

“How long?” The shuttle asked.

Since today, Breakdown was about to say, but then guessed that this wasn’t the information the other wanted. “Uhm… I don’t know.” He hadn’t asked, because he would have visited Dead End tomorrow again anyway. “I… I think two days? Maybe three?”

“Great,” Blast Off muttered and glanced down the corridor.

The Stunticon relaxed.

They stood there for a moment, Blast Off still looking away, and Breakdown less tense now that those optics weren’t focused on him.

When Blast Off’s attention returned to him, Breakdown shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“You’re coming with me!” the shuttle said blankly.

It wasn’t a question, it sounded like an order, but different from Motormaster’s.

Still, Breakdown obeyed, because walking with someone through the empty hallways and behind a mech who cast an even longer shadow was better than going to his quarters alone.

He followed, and only when he noticed where they were going, he mumbled a quiet, “uhm…”

The Combaticons’ quarters were close, in one of the less central corridors, and barely occupied since they had their own base.

Breakdown trembled. The empty corridors seem to stretch, the way becoming surreally long, and the sound of his steps louder.

It was the high grade, he told himself, and suppressed the urge to figure out why he was still following the other mech. He had hardly spoken to him, and their only topic had ever been the location of Dead End.

Breakdown twitched, and glanced back. The noise of cameras zooming in on him was only in his head, he was sure of it. He almost stumbled over his own feet. He should watch where he was walking, and so he did, catching a glimpse of Blast Off giving him a brief look.

Blast Off never said much; Dead End had told Breakdown that, and that the shuttle hated being talked to… There were a few other things, but Breakdown didn’t remember what Dead End had actually said. Some of them had been rather frightening to Breakdown, and gloomy, causing him to have thoughts he didn’t want to have, and so he dismissed those memory files. It was easier than trying to understand Dead End’s fascination.

“In there.” Blast Off stopped and opened a door. It revealed a bleak room, with a berth and a desk. Four datapads lay on the table, but except them, there was nothing, no personal belongings; at least none Breakdown could see from where he was standing. It was quite logical, though. The Combaticons now lived at their base, and they hadn’t been here long. Most of their property had probably been lost on Cybertron…

“What are you waiting for?”

An underlying impatience entered the bored tone, and Breakdown winced. He didn’t even spend a single thought on why he had to enter the room, he just did. With weak legs, the dizziness of the high grade still present in his system, he stepped forward nervously. His widened optics were on Blast Off as he walked past him, and for a second time that evening, he stumbled. Not over his own feet, but over the doorjamb.

Breakdown’s lazy processor was unable to cope with the sudden events. His equilibrium failing, the floor coming immediately closer; he grasped hold of something which turned out to be Blast Off’s arm. His vision blurred when the back of his head hit the ground. There was a “clang” of metal against metal, and a “thud” of a door closing, but both sounds were meaningless to Breakdown’s slow-working CPU.

He rebooted his optical sensors twice, until the input was clear again. His wrists were pinned to the floor above his head, the bulk of Blast Off leaning over him.

Breakdown shuddered. But not because of his current position, this was unimportant right now. He was in an unfamiliar room he’d never been before, and the light was dim, but still bright enough to provide good pictures to any cameras that might be in place. Or maybe they used infrared?

The Stunticon’s vents whirled louder at the panic of being watched, and he stretched his neck, trying to map out every inch of the walls. There weren’t cameras in the upper corners, but that would have been too obvious of course, and so Breakdown searched for anything what resembled the artificial eye of a camera in the gaps of the plating the room was made of.

He couldn’t make out anything, but he also couldn’t be sure. Only when the shuttle spoke to him again did he remember his vulnerable position.

“You are drunk.”

Like before, this wasn’t a question, and Breakdown froze.

“N… no. No, I’m not!” he said promptly, and flinched at the stern look. This close, Breakdown could see the other’s optics behind the purple glass. “I… I mean not… much?”

There was a tickling sensation on his intakes that spread over his whole sensor net, but Breakdown didn’t pay much attention to it. He continued frantically, “I only had two cubes, it’s okay, really. You don’t need to tell anyone!”

If Motormaster found out, he’d punish Breakdown, and he didn’t want that. Wildrider would be angry at him, too, and might pull another prank. Probably with the cassettes, or Skywarp. Breakdown didn’t like Skywarp.

Another tingle, this time on sensors of his upper arm, stopped that train of thought, and he craned to see what had caused the feeling.

“You’re not going to throw up.” Blast Off’s tone made sure that this again wasn’t a query, but unlike before, it didn’t seem to be an order either.

Breakdown looked back at the shuttle’s face and shook his head, then again turned his optics to the black fingers. With a light pressure tracing over the seams of his arm, they infested his sensors with a prickling delight.

“Good,” the shuttle said, squeezing Breakdown’s shoulder tyre and pressing on the wheel rim.

Breakdown quivered.

It was then that he realised what was going on.

He tensed, and with widened optical sensors he followed the other’s moving hand. Leaving his shoulder, it found its way down his side with a firm touch, the palm pressing against his plating, and fingers surveying transformation seams with a lingering touch.

Breakdown clenched his jaw and winced; it felt better than it should. He could fight back, he should struggle, but the thought vanished at soon as it appeared and was overwritten by the fascinating view of the black, strong hand on his crème-white armour. The unfamiliar view of a hand which didn’t belong to his team mates induced an electrifying jolt running down his backstruts.

He shivered again when the touch reached his interface panel, and the attention of digits curling against it sent a buzz through his systems which concentrated behind the panel’s cover.

The hand disappeared as it stroked down, and Breakdown tried to sit up, but was reminded that his arms were still pressed to the ground. Though, even if he couldn’t see any longer what Blast Off did, the sensations gave him enough input for his vivid imagination.

A thumb slid down the inside of his thigh, then it pressed into the sensitive knee joint. Digging between cables, it reached the hydraulic mechanism of his knee and his foot twitched.

“Hmmnpf…” Breakdown bit his lower lip, writhing in Blast Off’s grip. How did the shuttle know?

He wanted to ask, and protest for the first time, when the sensation intensified and a mixture of pleasure and tickling rippled up and down his leg. His foot trembled, caused by an odd urge to move, and the titillating feeling made Breakdown almost laugh.

He bit his lip harder, but couldn’t hold off the sound, a half laugh half whimper, nor could he prevent himself from aching up into the touch.

“You like that?” the calm voice asked, and Breakdown realised that he’d been watched the whole time.

He tensed again, at first from anxiety, then from more sensations. The thumb was on his heel, tickling him even more, and his lip plates curved into a grin. Then he moaned softly as Blast Off’s energy field added more pleasure to the contact where their plating met.

He really should start to fight back, Breakdown thought, because this shouldn’t happen to him, should it? He wasn’t Dead End, and even though Dead End liked what Blast Off did to him…

Breakdown’s processor stopped right there. The image of Dead End lying, writhing, under the shuttle’s bulk triggered a treacherous excitement and did nothing to support his decision that he didn’t want any of it at all.

 _That_ , and the digits which paid again attention to his interface panel. It suddenly caused the optics watching him to be less important. Even when they came closer as Blast Off leant down, with the shuttle’s engine revving and energy field flaring, the eeriness of that gaze wasn’t that threatening anymore.

His own field extending in response, Breakdown’s head dropped back, his leg bent, knee scratching over Blast Off’s plating. Pleasure caused his systems to heat up, and the heat triggered his cooling fans whirling to life, their low vibrations increasing the tickling on his sensors. It was a cycle that was accelerated by the shuttle’s next words.

“Open up.”

Breakdown whimpered. He still could say no; he still could just go to his quarters. These thoughts ran through his head, and it seemed to take too long for Blast Off’s tastes.

The shuttle leant further down, battle mask retracting. His engine revved to a growl, but his voice wasn’t angry; or it might have been, but Breakdown didn’t pay much attention to it, the engine’s vibrations were far too distracting.

“Open up,” Blast Off repeated.

And Breakdown did. The cover of his interface panel slid aside with a hiss. He looked down at it, and the touch of black digits was more intense now, causing the arousal to rise even before Blast Off’s connector clicked in place. And when it did, Breakdowns’ vision began to spin.

He moaned at the sudden presence of the other, and he hardly noticed his own plug sliding in Blast Off’s port. Only when his gestalt coding activated with an unknown strength, he became aware of the completed interface.

Breakdown’s frame shuddered, half from pleasure, half from something else he couldn’t describe. His program worked fast, and he couldn’t recall when it had done this before, if at all. It tried to make sense of the shuttle’s connection, tried to recognise the other’s gestalt programming as part of his own, which it wasn’t. It was weird, and exciting, causing a thrilling chaos in his processor which mingled with pleasure and arousal.

Breakdown gasped and arched up. He tried to say something, to ask what was happening, though he didn’t manage anything but a staticky groan.

Slowly, the odd sensation faded away, and left only a pulsing pressure on his sensor net, increasing the impact of the energy exchange.

Blast Off’s surges felt good, different from anything Breakdown knew. It hadn’t been this obvious in the energy field before; it made him him dizzy, as though his equilibrium was malfunctioning.

His fingers curled and uncurled with the steady, slow energy stream. It was intense and arousing, and Breakdown continued moaning softly, staring at Blast Off who stared at him. The throbbing of the shuttle’s engine notable in the energy field, and this too was different.

It was louder than Motormaster’s, a deeper sound which seemed to cause even the air to vibrate.

Breakdown’s optics dropped to the other’s chest, where the plating hid his engine. Revving now and then, it was built for a completely different purpose than driving on asphalt, built to outrun even gravity.

The Stunticon shuddered; writhing at a particularly powerful burst, he whimpered. “I… that…”

He wanted more of that throbbing pleasure, he wanted it closer, but Blast Off didn’t grant his wish and just asked, with a slight static in his tone, “You want to touch me?”

Yes, Breakdown wanted this, too, and he nodded and gasped.

“Say it.”

Another order, which Breakdown obeyed, stammering, his lip plates quivering. “… wanna touch… I… please.”

One of his hands was released, and he clutched at the tyreless shoulder, fingers tightening around strong plating which didn’t give in. Breakdown’s optics lit up, then dimmed again as he stared at his own touch, attentively.

He trembled under Blast Off, his heel scraping over the ground, his knee pressing against the shuttle. Delightful sensations made it hard to concentrate as he shifted his attention to the arm. Breakdown’s shivering digits stroked down the brown plates until they reached the heat shield. Tracing over its abrasive surface, he explored every inch, and a powerful surge rushed through the interface as he touched the shield’s edge.

Breakdown gasped, and Blast Off’s vocaliser let slip a moan for the first time. The Stunticon decided that he rather liked this sound, and he repeated his action, before he tugged the other’s hand closer accompanied with a moaned “Please”.

Blast Off let it happen, looking at him, frowning but sighing as Breakdown’s finger curled against his arm. He pulled it closer just a little more, close enough for Breakdown’s glossa to reach the leading edge of the shield.

The sound of Blast Off moaning sent a thrill down his backstruts, and caused himself to gasp against the ceramic. The shared pleasure over the connection increased, and the feedback loop sped up, but Breakdown didn’t stop. Submissively, his glossa licked the edge first, then it slid under the shield, trying to reach even more sensitive areas as he watched the other’s fingers tensing. He moaned at the intensified sensations received through the interface, always careful not to overdo it, because he really didn’t want Blast Off to withdraw his hand.

Then the tact of Blast Off’s engine changed, and Breakdown revved his in return, hard. He couldn’t control when his system activated the special vibrational quality of his engine, and even though it wasn’t strong enough to cause surrounding systems to shut down, it was enough to make the pleasure spike, and the room’s light flicker.

“Hmpf.” Breakdown bit his lip, hand clutching at the other’s arm as he whimpered against the heat-shield.

Blast Off leant closer, growling under static. “Do that again!”

Breakdown did. He didn’t even have a choice, his systems acting on their own while his engine worked fast and his energy field flared wildly, grinding against Blast Off’s, it was overwhelming.

His other hand was released, and both of them clutched at the shuttle’s chest, digging for purchase in transformation seams as Breakdown arched his back.

Vibrations and energy surges pushed the delight fast; it spiralled upwards, and Breakdown moaned loudly. The heat felt as though his plating was glowing, or maybe it was, he didn’t know. Blast Off’s surges contained data Breakdown’s CPU couldn’t process. He was floating and trembling and couldn’t say what of it was real; except for the pleasure which ran back and forth through his sensor net.

Breakdown’s vision blurred when a strong hand pressed at his interface panel, kneading his cable, while the other tightened around his tyre.

Squirming, he lost orientation, and cried out when the charged peaked with surprising force. Breakdown tensed, relaxed and tensed again. His energy field extending, his engine revving, rumbling so powerfully it shut down the lights. Through the ringing of pleasure in his audial sensors, he heard Blast Off say something under static, but every coherent thought was swept away by the intensity of overload and he didn’t understand.

The shuttle’s climax fired back into him when his own hadn’t fully subsided, and it almost hurt his strained sensor nodes. Shuddering, the tension on his joints vanished slowly and Breakdown slumped, quivering, one hand sliding down while the other traced over Blast Off’s chest lazily.

Breakdown didn’t trust himself to speak, and so he kept quiet, staring at the shuttle’s optics focusing on him. They were the only light source in the dark room, and the only real eyes watching him. His vocaliser still generated soft whimpers in his post-overload drowsiness, but these were drowned out by both mechs’ cooling systems.

Breakdown didn’t know if he should apologise for the broken lights, but before he came to a decision, Blast Off spoke, his vocaliser crackling.

“Dead End is in medbay for two or three days.”

The shuttle’s words resonating through the interface, and increased the tingling aftermath. Breakdown knew it wasn’t a question, but he nodded nonetheless.

“Interesting,” was all the shuttle said, as his field gave an enticing flare.


End file.
